I am officially the worst mother of the year. The rest of
you can rest easily because I have taken the title for you. (You should
probably rest easy for the entire time I am a parent – I calculate that will
end… at my death. There ya go – free pass for life!!)
It all started when I spent the day trying to figure out a
ton of math problems for work. This wouldn’t be so bad except that over the
course of a week I seem to have forgotten math. Totally. As in – I’m not even
certain that 2+2=5. That’s right, right?? It appears that way these days.
I have spent the week with a screaming two year old and a
six year old that gets so mad at him that she screams at the top of her lungs,
slams her door, and continues to yell. We have a rule against yelling in the
house, which she clearly knows about, because the rules are posted on the
fridge, but she chose to scream anyway. So, she got herself grounded (not that
she was going anywhere anyway, but the point was made, which is all I ask for anymore).
My brain is fried, to say the least.
Today I forgot about a parent teacher conference.
Lovely. I feel so bad about it. When I
realized it I almost cried. I have felt like such an inadequate parent this
year. I’m not sure if it is because I am projecting my own horrible first grade
experiences on to the teachers this year or what. I am beginning to think that
first grade teachers are all the same (no offense to first grade teachers
everywhere, but I had a really bad experience with mine).
I say this to Yaya - “I feel as if I am failing 1st
grade all over again!”
She tells me, “I am going to write a short story about it.”
“About what?” I ask.
“You failing first grade. It will be just a short story,
with a short story line.”
I think about this for a moment as I pull into the little
guy’s school parking lot.
I put the car into park in the parking spot and turn around
to say to her, “I didn’t fail first grade, for the record.”
Yaya think about this for a moment and then says, “Hmm. It
will make a good story anyway.”
I am officially screwed and I don’t even know what excuse to
use on her teachers. If all else fails, blame Brian. ;o)
Then we get home. I think everything is going ok (after I
call Brian and vent about my inadequacies at parenting, obviously).
Little guy was playing in the yard. Not quite happily but he
was enjoying the snow. Yaya pops her head out the door all bundled up like she
has places to go and people to see. She wants to go to the neighbors. I tell
her ‘No, it’s dinner time as soon as I cook the pizza.” She throws me a look of
absolute hatred and slams the door.
I usher LG in a few minutes later and ask where Yaya is. She
is oh-so-slowly peeling off her winter gear and crying. “You are the Worst. Mother.
Ever,” she screams as she runs to her room. I shake my head and commence making
dinner.
Dinner goes smoothly and everyone is happy and eats pretty
much everything on their plates. (A far cry from what transpired just 14
minutes before) Score for me!
I go to put the little guy to bed and realize I have
forgotten his blanky at preschool. Not Good. I have been back and forth to his
room for the better part of two hours and he still refuses to sleep. I am
exhausted due to the stairs. Why didn’t I buy a ranch house?? I am kicking
myself for losing the original Blanky a few weeks ago. Dang – to have two Blankies right now!!
Wait… All is quiet upstairs… Maybe they have gone to sleep!
I’ll check in a bit. That silence is golden!